He kissed her then, craving the taste of her and the moist heat of her mouth. He’d never enjoyed kissing a woman as much as he enjoyed kissing Harry. There was nothing delicate about the way she took what she wanted. She was a handful in every way. As the kiss deepened, Roger slid his hand from her thigh to her bare derriere under the back of her dress. She gasped.
“Hmm,” Roger hummed appreciatively against her lips. “I love the way you feel.”
Harry relaxed in his arms. “Do you?” she murmured. “I love the feel of you loving the way I feel.”
He laughed again. Even like this she was still Harry, cheeky and funny. He ran the tips of his fingers lightly down the furrow between her plump buttocks and barely skimmed her sex, making her shiver in his arms. “Do you?” he asked, placing kisses along her jaw. “What about this? Do you like the way this feels, too?” He drummed his fingertips against that sensitive area and she tensed in his arms. “Yes?” he asked quietly. This was actually further than he’d meant to go when he’d snuck off with her. He’d thought just a few stolen kisses.
“Yes,” she said with a breathy sigh.
Roger moved his fingers more deliberately, dipping them nearer to her entrance, loving everything about the way she felt there, too.
Suddenly the door across from them flew open and a woman said, “In here, my dear. You can rest a moment right here.”
Harry cried out at the sudden interruption as Roger tried to shield her with his body. He realized too late that her leg was still wrapped around him and visible to those behind them, although her face was buried in his chest.
“Oh, good Lord,” Lady Anne said in flustered tones. The door slammed and the room fell into semidarkness once again. On the other side of the door, Roger could hear voices raised in alarmed inquiry. The voices faded and Roger’s heartbeat slowed down enough to let him think clearly.
“We have to go,” he told Harry urgently. “I don’t think they saw who it was, at least not enough to say with any certainty.” He pried Harry’s hands from his lapel as her leg fell away from him, her foot hitting the carpet with an ominous thud.
“I am ruined,” she said in a defeated voice.
“Well, I’m not exactly overjoyed, either,” Roger said wryly, refusing to acknowledge the hurt her words caused him. It was what he’d been worried about all along, wasn’t it? But he wasn’t going to let his indiscretion and poor judgment ruin her life. From now on he’d be very careful not to let scandal touch her. “Come on, we’re not ruined yet.” He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Now, hurry and right yourself. We haven’t much time.”
Harry quickly shook out her skirts and they moved toward the balcony doors just as the study door flew open and Throckton was thrust inside to be followed by his sister.
“Hurry and light another lamp,” Lady Anne hissed. “And, Throckton, you’ve been here for at least a quarter hour showing them your paintings.”
“My what?” the earl said in an aggrieved tone. “What the devil is going on?”
“Never mind,” Lady Anne said. She looked over at Roger. “Fix your hair.” Roger immediately ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it. Lady Anne turned to Harry. “You probably always look that way,” she said, dismissing Harry’s just-kissed look and tumbling locks. “Now get ready.”
“Ready for what?” the earl said, this time a little more forcefully. “Templeton, what have you done?”
“Throckton, old man, help us out,” Roger pleaded. “Please? The lady’s reputation is at stake.”
The earl looked at Harry and after a moment sighed in capitulation. “Get over here and look at my painting,” he said grudgingly. “I have no idea what is so special about it.”
Roger grabbed Harry’s hand and went to stand next to the earl in front of a small painting of a farm. There were voices in the hallway again, and one voice in particular demanded that someone open the door.
Lady Anne had just reached Roger’s side, shoving Harry over so she stood on the end of their odd little row, putting Lady Anne between the two of them, when the door was opened abruptly and a woman said, “There!” in a loud, breathless voice. All four of them turned to look at the crowd by the door.
“Yes?” the earl inquired calmly, as if a mob accosted him in his study every evening. “Is there something amiss?”
The leader of the pack was Lady Crosby, who loved nothing more than a good on-dit to share over tea in the drawing rooms of society. “Lady Anne and I interrupted an amorous adventure here moments ago,” she declared.
“We did?” Lady Anne asked in complete confusion.
Lady Crosby sniffed in indignation. “My dear, do not dissemble. You opened the door to let poor Miss Threadle rest for a moment to overcome her nerves, and before we could enter, you exclaimed and slammed the door shut and rushed us off.”
“Is that what that was about?” the earl asked, glaring at Lady Anne. “Anne, you know I do not allow my study to be used as a fainting room for ill young ladies.”
Lady Anne looked thoroughly chastised. “I know, my lord, and I am sorry. When I saw you in here with Mr. Templeton and Lady Mercer, I panicked and slammed the door rather than risk your wrath.”
It was all Roger could do to contain his burst of laughter. Throckton’s wrath was about as substantial as sea foam. He simply didn’t have a good row in him, poor sod. But he’d certainly come through for him and Harry tonight. Roger wouldn’t forget that.
“I would hardly call admiring this pastoral scene an amorous adventure,” he risked commenting, “but I do like it.”
“You”—Lady Crosby pointed—“I am quite sure you are the gentleman I saw.”
“Well, yes, I was here, as both the earl and Lady Anne have pointed out,” Roger admitted ruefully. “I had no idea retreating with the earl to his study would cause a furor.”
“Neither did I,” Harry said, flustered. “Is it improper to have come with the earl to see his paintings?” she asked shyly of Lady Anne. “I didn’t think it would be construed as indiscreet.” She looked as if she wanted to cry, and Roger wasn’t sure it was an act.
“Look what you’ve done,” Roger accused Lady Crosby with a glare, taking a page from Hil’s book. “You’ve upset Lady Mercer.”
“Indeed,” a wry voice said from the crowd, though Roger couldn’t discern who it was.
The earl sighed and placated his guests with a smile. “I simply brought my old friend Templeton and Lady Mercer to my study for a short respite from the excitement of the evening. I was planning on rejoining my guests shortly. But I am relieved to see my absence was noted by so many and you came in search of me. A host certainly enjoys the approbation of his guests.” He moved toward the door. “Where is Miss Threadle? Is she quite all right?” He looked over his shoulder. “Anne, you’ll see to Templeton and Lady Mercer for me, won’t you? I must see to my other guests. Templeton, it was good to see you again. Lady Mercer.” He left them with a small bow as he ushered the others from the room, placating a protesting Lady Crosby with some made-up story of a painting by an undiscovered artist that would someday be recognized as a master.
When the door finally closed behind them, Harry sagged beside Lady Anne and then turned and fell into the nearest chair. “I cannot believe how close that was to disaster,” she declared dramatically.
Lady Anne sighed and closed her eyes briefly. “I cannot either,” she said. She opened her eyes to glare at Roger. “You should know better!”
“Me?” he asked, placing a hand on his chest while adopting his most innocent look, which really wasn’t very good.
“Yes, you,” Lady Anne said, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You devil. Don’t pretend this isn’t your fault.”
“It is,” Harry agreed emphatically. “He lured me in here.”
“Lured?” Roger said incredulously. “You followed me without protest.”
“A lamb to the slaughter,” Harry said sternly. Then she grinned and burst into giggles. “Oh, R
oger, why do I let you talk me into these things?”
“Oh, don’t blame yourself, dear,” Lady Anne said with a comforting pat on Harry’s shoulder. “These Devils can talk a saint into sinning.”
“It wasn’t as if the task was that difficult,” Roger said, holding out a hand to help Harry get up from her chair. “I may be a Devil, but Harry is no saint.”
Chapter Nineteen
Harry had so much fun with Roger the week following their near escape at the Earl of Throckton’s that she almost forgot why she was carrying on with him in the first place. She’d never felt so wooed and wanted. It was the most exhilarating thing she’d ever experienced.
Roger took her out every night. They went to dinner parties, assemblies, a musicale that neither enjoyed, the opera, and even Vauxhall. Harry had never had so much fun in her life. Roger made sure they did all the things she’d been longing to do, but had been unable to when married to Mercer, and too frightened to do on her own when she got to London.
During the day, he even called several times when she had guests visiting. He made it quite obvious they were involved, and she loved the speculative and jealous looks she received. On one special occasion he’d gone to the park with her and Mercy. The little boy had been frightened of Roger at first. Charlotte said it was because he wasn’t used to being around men, which in her household was probably true. But after a half hour or so, Mercy had been laughing and chasing the ball as Roger rolled it across the green. With Roger there, and a footman, Harry had felt safe. It gave her a warm feeling to have Roger protecting her. She knew she ought to be stronger, knew that Roger wasn’t going to stay and be there for them always, but she ignored the danger to her heart and pretended he would.
It was foolish in so many ways. But their near miss at Throckton’s soiree had made Harry realize two very important things. The first was that she didn’t want to be ruined. Well, she very much wanted Roger to actually do the deed, but she no longer wanted all of society to know about it. Quite frankly, she didn’t really wish to be known as a loose woman. She was at her wit’s end already with this charade. She really couldn’t see having to actually live the life of a fallen woman. How utterly exhausting it would be. A little scandal was fine for a widow of means; but a terrible scandal would be awful. And they had just barely avoided a terrible scandal, thanks to Lady Anne and the earl. Her ruination had seemed like the perfect plan when Faircloth wouldn’t leave her alone and she’d been so desperate that she was willing to try anything. But now … now she’d had time to think about it. She still hoped Roger’s attentions would deter Faircloth, and to that end she would continue to publicly flirt outrageously with Roger. But anything more would have to wait for the privacy of home. A scandal now would ruin her forever. The ton never forgot. And she mustn’t either.
The second, and perhaps most distressing, realization she’d had, after almost getting caught in flagrante delicto with Roger, was that she wanted him. Not just to ruin her to foil Faircloth’s plans, but simply because he was Roger and she wanted him. She didn’t want it to be a public display. She wanted to give herself to him because she cared deeply for him and yearned to share those things with him. Since Throckton’s she’d begun to question if she had pursued Roger simply to further her plans of ruination, or because she’d wanted him from the moment she’d realized who he was in that garden all those weeks ago. Her heart had raced and her breath had caught that night because he was Roger and she’d never forgotten him, not because he was a means to an end.
Tonight they were going to a ball. Harry had ordered the most gorgeous gown and it had just been delivered. She hoped Roger liked it, although the truth was that Roger didn’t seem to care what she wore. He was impossible when it came to fashion, not knowing pink from coral or a flounce from a ruffle. She could wear the maid’s uniform and Roger would probably tell her she looked beautiful, his usual response when she asked how she looked. Instead of aggravating her, she reveled in it. Ever since she had blossomed as a girl, and especially after she married Mercer, she’d been treated like a doll, dressed up and paraded around for everyone to see. It was so very freeing to have a gentleman who honestly did not care what she wore or how she looked. Well, he cared how she looked, if his whispered words and hungry kisses were any indication.
They hadn’t been truly intimate since the day Roger came to her house bare-chested. She wasn’t counting their near miss at Throckton’s because neither of them had attained their pleasure. The whole situation was ridiculously frustrating. Roger insisted they had rushed too quickly into intimacy and he wanted to woo her. It sounded like a lie to her. She suspected he was feeling terribly guilty about what had happened at the earl’s party and so was being a perfect gentleman. The problem was that when they were in company, he was an incorrigible flirt. He teased her mercilessly on the dance floor and just about anywhere else with little touches and longing glances and whispered promises. But when he got her home, he said good night and left with Wiley. Harry was at her wit’s end.
She wished she had more experience on how to make a Devil act like a Devil when they were alone. Yes, his behavior was exactly what she needed to thwart Faircloth. That cad hadn’t dared show his face since Roger had so openly put a claim on Harry. But it wasn’t what she needed personally. What she needed was Roger pressed against her and once again showing her the heights of passion. That was what she needed. And she was willing to resort to desperate measures.
Her first desperate measure was the dress. It was scarlet. Roger had very much liked her red riding habit. But this was so much more than that tame color. It was not just a dark pink, or even a plain tulip red, but scarlet silk with deep red satin piping and black beading on the bodice and hem. She gleamed in the candlelight when she walked. She knew she did because she’d been walking back and forth in front of her mirror for some time now. And the cut was positively indecent. She ought to be ashamed to wear it, but she wasn’t. Being with Roger had made her unashamed of being herself. Perhaps because he knew her, really knew her. He knew where she came from, where she began and what her hopes and dreams used to be. He’d brought back some of that spirit to her with his mere presence in her life. She knew him, too. Knew where he came from, and what he’d been through, and what he used to dream about. There was no place for pretense between them.
She frowned in the mirror. Perhaps since Faircloth had stopped bothering her, she should tell Roger about him. Not everything, of course, just that he was bribing and harassing her. Roger would insist on knowing why, however, and she couldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t understand. There were times she didn’t understand it herself. But at the time there had seemed to be no alternative. And she had Mercy now. Mercy was everything. None of it was his fault. He was the only innocent among them.
Harry shook off her melancholy mood and twirled in front of the mirror again. Yes, she looked good. She’d had her maid, Antoinette, dress her hair in an elaborate Greek style, with little braids on each side at the front looping artfully around to the back of her head. It had taken forever, and Harry had a bit of a headache, but it was worth it. Her unruly hair was finally contained. Not even vigorous dancing could upset it in this style. Or vigorous lovemaking. She blushed at the thought and then chastised herself for being a ninny.
The final touches were diamond earrings, necklace, and matching bracelet. Now she really was shimmering. Certainly Roger wouldn’t be able to resist her charms in this dress. Even she could see that it clung to her derriere in an indecent way. Too bad they weren’t going to Almack’s. She’d be refused entrance in this dress and her disgrace would race among the gossipmongers and right to Faircloth’s ears.
A knock on the door pried her away from the mirror. “Yes?” she called out.
“Mr. Templeton has arrived, madam,” a voice said from the hallway.
Harry nervously checked her appearance in the mirror before opening the door. The curtain was ready to rise on her performance as a seductive siren.
> She stopped at the top of the stairs, surprised to see Roger holding Mercy down below, his back to her.
“You must always wait for the ladies, Mercy,” Roger was telling him, as he held up his left hand and Mercy played with the small ring he wore on the last finger. His words carried up the stairs. “They insist upon it, of course, and we must oblige. We can hardly do less, considering how much time they take with their appearance. But a gentleman doesn’t comment upon that,” he said with emphasis.
Mercy nodded and said, “No.”
Roger laughed. “Exactly, little man. Now where is your mama? You should be in bed.” Mercy pointed to her over his shoulder and she waved.
She came down the stairs then, carefully watching Roger’s reaction. She was not disappointed. His laughter died as he stared at her wide-eyed, the same way Mercy did whenever he saw a new toy he wanted.
“Good evening, Roger,” she said, trying to infuse as much of the seductress into her tone as possible.
“Lady Mercer,” he said, sounding more as if he was confronting the enemy than his lover.
Harry didn’t think that was a good start, but she persevered. “You are looking splendid,” she said. And he was, in his new bright blue evening jacket and black pantaloons.
Roger looked down at the jacket and smoothed his hand down the front. “I’m speechless. Thank you.”
“Well, you lost your jacket and ruined Sir Hilary’s to run to my defense. It was the least I could do. How does Sir Hilary like his?”
Roger smiled. “He was preening in front of the mirror when I left. You shall see it tonight. And thank you for not getting us matching evening wear.”
“The thought never occurred to me,” she said with a laugh, which was an outright lie. From the look on Roger’s face, he knew it, too. “I was afraid neither of you would accept the gift. It was a little forward, I know.”
Samantha Kane Page 17
